Special Delivery
by BabaYagaAndHisOwl
Summary: There's just something you've got to know about that issue with the rumored personification of the USSR. Jákov Ivanov didn't really get that far, after all. But as long as Russia had his fun, America supposed the occasional collateral damage was something he could life with any day. Now, if only his brother would see his side of the whole thing... Complete.


Special Delivery

Disc/ I only own the story.

* * *

Somewhere in one of the larger malls of Chicago's shopping district, Ivan stood between aisles of nothing but jeans, a bit confused about the size tags.

After a while of trying to figure out which was which, he shrugged it off, determined not to let his shopping trip get ruined by such insignificant matters. He would simply take the size with the longest legs; that strategy served him well enough until now.

He went and bought a set of new china, paid the flower shop an extended visit and got himself several container of Ice cream - maybe not the most important on his to-do list, but hey! It was Ice cream.

Everyone loved Ice cream, even he on occasion.

So all in all, he had a nice and relaxed trip.

He really should do that more often, was his last thought before he hit the sack, at seven in the evening. But he had to get up early the next day; he needed his fair share of rest, unlike a certain neighbor who apparently thought his back yard was THE place for camping, even in October.

The nerve of that man! It wasn't his fault if he caught a cold like that.

* * *

Jákov yawned wide, still not quite awake.

Well it was Sunday; he could afford sleeping in, right?

So when he finally crawled out from under the bed covers it was ten thirty in the morning and he actually felt more at ease as he had for over two months. Ever since the menace had moved here, actually.

He shook his head at himself. Honestly, it wasn't as if the man could be held responsible for every little thing that went wrong in his life. That would be hypocritical and biased - which he was not.

He wasn't biased, just a bit...paranoid, but to his defense, his history with acquaintances *cough* America *cough* made it completely reasonable to look twice at certain matters.

So, paranoid he was, he admitted that, but not biased.

His trail of thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he reached for the handle of the kitchen door. Hadn't he left that one open the evening before? He never closed the two doors that his flat possessed. There was no need to, unless he had someone over.

Yet, the door was shut.

This was stupid, he decided eventually. And consequently ignored the increasingly adventurous conclusions his overly creative mind jumped to. Shaking off the lingering feeling of unease, he opened the door with a determined shove.

The sun was shining brightly outside and bathed the room in her warm glow. It was an unusual tranquil, beautiful and bright Sunday morning for late October. Right in the center of the kitchen table, which was already loaded with two dinner trays and a steel pot on a portable heater stood an eloquent, stunning bouquet of sunflowers in a big blue vase.

On one of the exquisite china plates lay a card, made of heavy jacquard paper that gave the material an expensive, silky appearance. Attached to it was a blue bow, along with some chocolates.

Jákov closed his eyes, slowly.

Upon opening, the scene hadn't changed an inch. There was still this foreign and quite romantic ensemble in his otherwise completely untouched kitchen.

He picked the card up, mutely.

Opened it.

'_Would you please stop pestering me, brat? _

_Really, everything is as fine as it can be over here; I already took care of that silly matter you were so upset about. There's really no need to get all that worked up about it. Anyway, I'll be back soon - and that's a promise. And for the last damn time, leave me the fuck ALONE.  
_

_In the sincere hope that the bane of my existence is nowhere near well, _

_Fortunately Not Yours.'_

Jákov stared blankly at the calligraphic letters. He did not move for over two minutes.

* * *

A high-pitched scream shook the family living next door out of their Sunday morning routine.

As the screaming continued and went even higher in pitch, the matriarch ushered her husband to take a look. The man went over, grumbling under his breath about his overly concerned wife. He knocked on the door, several times, but was completely ignored.

Also, the screams coming from inside did not cease.

He turned the doorknob and found it open, to his astonishment.

'Hello? Mr. Ivanov?'

The patriarch found his neighbor huddled in a corner of the kitchen, completely hysterical. The man, at a loss on what to do, or what could've terrified the young man to such an extent called the cops.

Those where it also who discovered the still missing manhood of their recently murdered colleague in the pot, completely caramelized, with rice and cheese filling on top of a bed of seasoned vegetables.

* * *

Ivan opened a single, bleary eye when the blue lights flashed outside of his window. He let out an annoyed groan, pulling the blankets over his head. It was Sunday, for the love of god! Couldn't they let a man sleep in peace!?

* * *

Same day, evening, in some random bar in Samara...Or, to be more precise, in the private area of said bar, which was strangely empty for a normal Sunday night.

Might be because the two men seated next to the dance floor slowly but steadily drank up all the hard liqueur available. Or it was because their hands wandered to each other a tad too often than some of the other guests' oh so sensitive minds could take.

So the waiter was rather nervous when he had to bring the phone over to the sitting group of said guests. He probably would've been even more nervous if he knew that his frantic fidgeting made it all the worse for him. But the topic of his guest's phone conversation wasn't very reassuring.

Eventually, Russia ended the call. And raised an amused eyebrow at the waiter who practically sprinted out of the room.

'They swallowed it.' He grinned at the other man sitting across the small club table.

America downed his glass before replying. 'Well, I've placed the bait, don't worry. And anyway, I'm sure he'll let you go to the World Conference if you ask him now. I mean, we could always use Iggy's old-'

'Alfred.' Russia interrupted him toneless.

'Yes?'

'If you think I will go and ASK him then you're delusional.' He hissed. 'I'm gonna make that little piece of shit bow at my feet and beg for it! Clear?'

'Crystal.' The blonde leaned back in his leather chair. 'Whatever you say, Vanya.'

'Exactly.'

* * *

I was told it was 'kinda good' so I thought...the hell, maybe someone gets a laugh out of it or so. I know my humor is kind of crude and... Anyway.

If you find a grammar and/or spelling mistake ...tell me?


End file.
